


Things Gotta Change

by Mullsandmutts



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2017 playoff loss, M/M, Sadness, but happiness too, hints of pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-24 01:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10731720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mullsandmutts/pseuds/Mullsandmutts
Summary: The Hawks lose the playoffs in probably the worst way.  Jonny isn't sure how to move forward - he just knows he has to.   Luckily, he doesn't have to figure it out alone.





	Things Gotta Change

**Author's Note:**

> I guess this is becoming a thing for me -- my end-of-season processing piece. Here's hoping next year's isn't written until late June and with far cheerier results.

Jonny throws the last of his shit into his bag, ears still ringing with the quiet yet disappointment-heavy words of Stan and Q during his final meeting of the season. His mouth is still bitter with the bile he had to bite back during the media interviews. He exhales as deeply as he can ever remember, shoulders heavy as he looks down dumbly at his hands. 

At some point the "it's over" repeating on loop in quiet hissing at the back of his brain is actually going to sink in and be real. But for now, it's still all just so .... unbelievable. 

He lets a glance slide sideways down the row to where Patrick is just sitting and staring into the empty locker in front of him, knowing that the same confusion and disbelief and anger is coursing through him. But worse, Jonny know that the guarded look on Patrick's face hides a deep pain - a pain that Jonny may not have caused but is certainly pretty damn complicit. 

There are a few other guys in the room, mostly rookies who dawdle, not quite ready to call this the end of their first NHL season, not quite sure how to walk away when some know that they will probably be sacrificed at the trading altar this summer, if for no other reason than things need to change and they will be the currency to make that happen. 

If the guilt wasn't crushing Jonny before, it threatens to flatten him now. 

He knows how easily he could succumb to that guilt, how he can let his mind play over every mistake and let his soul take on the burden of the hurt and sadness that each of those rookies will feel if and when they get the call from Stan some time over the summer. Jonny can hear what the conversations will sound like, Stan telling them that it's been an honor and that the Hawks will always have a soft spot for them and if they can ever figure out a way to bring them home, blah blah blah. 

Jonny may have changed a lot of things over the years but that heavy sense of responsibility and the long winding rabbit hole that has always been the natural path of his thoughts is still automatic for him unless he works hard to disconnect and reframe. And normally he can, reframe - take the data, remove the emotion, and reason it out so that he can process it without self-torture. Meditation, yoga, reading, and all of the work he has done over the past few years hasn't eliminated his tendencies -- they've just given him better tools to separate fact from fiction, logic from emotion. But right now, he's very bitterly wondering if that shit is hocum and if it hasn't put him and his team exactly where they stand. 

"Hey," Jonny is pulled from his thoughts by a soft nudge and the smell of Patrick's cologne. Jonny has the momentary irrational realization that Patrick's scent has changed over the years since he got a classy girlfriend. It has gone from a smell reminiscent of high school dances and Axe commercials to expensive golf courses and country clubs. For some reason, that realization floods Jonny with a combined panic and fury -- that Patrick would evolve so much that Jonny can't remember the smell that he would have once known blindfolded. Insanely, he realizes he misses it in all it's frat boy cloying glory, misses the Patrick who used to just shoot him finger guns or, more often, just the finger and accuse him of being jealous when Jonny would make a sarcastic comment about it in their joined hotel rooms. 

Jonny is hit with such a wave of loss and nostalgia that he has to close his eyes and inhale sharply, hating the way his nostrils are filled with the scent of Grown Up Patrick when all he's craving for some damn reason is the gross cocky one of their early years. 

"Jon," Patrick nudges again and when Jonny opens his eyes to find himself staring into blue ones rimmed in red - eyes he knows as well or better than any others on the planet. Or at least, he did once upon a time. Those blue eyes are also very shrewd, always have been even if few have given them the credit they deserved under their seemingly lazy half-hood. And those eyes don't miss a beat here. 

"Being a morose bastard isn't going to help Hartzy or Vinnie to re-dedicate themselves to hockey over the off-season," Patrick says in a low tone, quiet enough with how closely he has leaned into Jonny's space that others won't be able to hear as he squeezes Jonny's forearm subtly, eyes locked into Jonny's with a focus and intensity that would shock many outsiders. "Did you ever disappoint your dad as a kid? You remember how gutted you felt? Don't let those kids spend the summer thinking they caused that kind of thing in you. Suck it up, reel it in, and help them to get through this. You can implode later."

Jonny nods, swallows thickly, shoving down both the shame at his mental state as well as at the gratitude he has for the way the Patrick can read him, always knows what to say, always guides him through the treacherous landscape of being the leader of this group. Patrick doesn't regularly wear a letter but there is no doubt that Jonny cannot lead without him, that Patrick is the quiet but vital chief-of-staff to Jonny's commander-in-chief. If there is one comfort that Jonny can take in this moment, it is knowing that no matter who might not come back in the fall, Patrick always will - contracts and pacts made into each other's necks on the ice during their 2010 Cup victory celebration ensure that. Jonny will never have to know what this team would look like without Patrick, what hockey would look like without Patrick at his side. The gratitude he feels for that threatens to weaken him at the knees.

"Okay," Jonny nods, throat and chest a bit too clogged with emotions to say much more to the eyes staring back. Patrick's lips do that purse-out-twitchy thing that they do when he's thinking before answering media question or analyzing a play, one of a thousand subconscious little tics that make Patrick ... Patrick. 

Patrick nods once, squeezes Jonny's forearm once more and lets his hand drop away. As they go -- mom and dad -- to soothe their babies. 

*****

Scotty is last of the team except Patrick and Jonny to exit the UC parking lot, slowly climbing the small ramp up and out onto Damen Avenue reluctantly, his eyes glancing back in the rear view mirror repeatedly as if suddenly someone is going to burst out of the building and scream "Come back, it was just a masterful Sharpy prank and you all have some playoffs to win!" Jonny swears that he can see the droop of Scotty's shoulders through his window, the final sad acceptance as he flips on the blinker to turn right and makes his way to merge into the busy street. 

Jonny closes his burning eyes and leans his forehead against the top of the open trunk to his Tesla. He takes three deep breaths to fight against the wave of nausea and fury and helplessness. He doesn't want to say goodbye to Scotty. He doesn't want to see another team get to embrace the amazing and kind heart that beats in that towering goalie. 

"Unless they trade Corey," Patrick's voice is at his shoulder. Jonny is again struck at the way Patrick is there, not just physically but tied also into Jonny's thoughts and emotions. 

"That wouldn't make me feel better either," Jonny's stomach clenches. Corey and Scotty are as different as can be but they both belong to him, to the Hawks. Neither should go. 

"Didn't say it would," Patrick says quietly and Jonny can hear the distance in his voice, which means he can tell without looking that Patrick's head is turned, probably toward the street where he knows Scotty's car is traveling. 

"God, Pat," Jonny whispers. "How did this happen?" Jonny honestly doesn't know. He has done nothing but think about this series since they left the ice. Has done nothing but poke at it and flip it around and tried to make it make sense. He hasn't slept in two days despite never feeling more exhausted in his life. 

"Guess we will have a long summer to figure that out," Patrick says quietly and even with his eyes closed Jonny can see the way that Patrick is probably readjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder, grim little half-smile full of self-reproach and self-accusation. 

"I don't think I will ever understand," Jonny admits softly. 

"I said figure it out, Jon," Patrick says pointedly. "I never said understand. I don't think that will happen for any of us." 

Jonny opens his eyes and leaves his forehead against the sun warmed metal, turning his head slightly until he can see Patrick leaning back against the car and blinking up at the sky. Jonny's eyes go to the burnished curls poking under the black Cubs hat, sweep up and over the clean skin where Patrick shaved his beard, noting the almost delicate bone structure of Patrick's jaw and cheeks. 

"Probably because you didn't get the mullet," Jonny attempts a half-hearted joke that he doesn't feel. 

"You hate the mullet and all of the glory for which it stands so don't even try," Patrick snorts and turns his head toward Jonny. 

"True," Jonny finally takes his forehead away from the car and straightens. "But the Hockey Gods have needs and apparently you looking like a low rent version of Joe Dirt is part of their required sacrifice."

"You don't believe in the Hockey Gods any more than you believe in the mullet, dipshit," 

Patrick walks over to open the back end of his Hummer parked next to Jonny's car. Jonny watches as he tucks his sunglasses into the top of his shirt and gently puts his bag into the car, almost treating his gear reverently. Jonny watches the thoughtful look slide over Patrick's feature as he smooths the leather of the bag with painful fingers, stroking it gently as if he is saying goodbye. And Jonny is suddenly flooded again with the choking feeling that he is responsible for taking Patrick's hockey, his joy, away for the summer. 

"I'm so sorry, Pat," Jonny's mouth opens and chokes out before Jonny can stop himself. 

Patrick's head snaps up and his eyes turn to meet Jonny's, wide and blue and shocked. Jonny feels like wolverines are in his chest shredding his heart and there is such a wrenching spike of pain in his gut that he feels breathless with it. Patrick's mouth works for a moment until he suddenly snaps it shut, eyes steeling as he marches forward and pushes Jonny back against his car, a tiny ball of rage and surprising strength. Well, surprising to anyone else. 

"Don't you fucking dare," Patrick hisses. His head may only reach Jonny's chin and he has to tip his chin up to meet Jonny's eyes as close as they are together but his intensity is in no way lessened for "Not one of us got the job done, Jonny. Not one. None of us is innocent here except maybe Scotty because he never even got a chance to get in and see what difference he could make. So it's all of us from Stan to Q to Kitch to the rookies to the core to you to me. All of us."

"Not you" Jonny says quietly but firmly. "You gave your heart out on every shift. Doubled shifts at that." 

"I'm a scorer," Patrick lets the bleakness that he's been masking suddenly slide over his face. "I didn't do my job."

"You want to talk about failing to do a job?" Jonny spits out bitterly, rage bubbling up in his chest. "I'm the other half of the clutch duo, remember? But worse, I'm the captain. It's my job to inspire and fire everyone up and instead what do I do? Repeat some soothing mantra about no panic and we've got this and everything is good and everything is chill and all other kinds of hippie feelings bullshit that left uninspired. That's on me, Pat. And I hate it! I hate knowing that my personal approach to a zen life has somehow made my team forget how to have fire. I blew it. I just ... blew it."

Patrick steps back and shoves his hands into his pockets, leveling Jonny with a long thoughtful stare. 

"So let me get this straight," Patrick starts with a non-chalance that Jonny knows is masking a deep rage, Patrick's lips working as he jaw hardens. "So this is all your fault, right? Because you're the only one out there? The only guy with talent, the best player on the team, the heart of the Hawks, is that right?"

"You know that's not ...." Jonny tries to start but Patrick is getting revved up now. 

"So are you that narcissistic, that arrogant, that the value and ability of this team rest solely in your performance?" Lightening might as well be crackling from Patrick's eyes as hot as they are with anger. "The rest of us have so little impact on the outcome of the game that we should just call it the Chicago Jonny's, is that what I'm getting here?"

"Fuck you," Jonny grits out. "Fuck you - you know exactly what I mean."

"I do indeed, you self-focused baby," Patrick spits hotly. "I know that it doesn't matter how shitty I played or what Duncs failed to do or how the rookies didn't get it done. It doesn't matter that coaching staff let us down and we couldn't find a speed button to save our lives. All that matters is that Jonny Toews gets his pity party, yeah? Well fuck you, Jon, for having your head shoved so far up your super clean colon that you have basically diminished the rest of us as background players this season. Congrats. I wish I would have known how unnecessary we were. Shit, I could have started golfing weeks ago. Hammer could have been home with the baby. Seabs could have ...."

"I FUCKING GET IT," Jonny roars in frustration. Frustration at Patrick twisting his words around, at standing outside the UC on a sunny April day when they should be battling their hearts out in a playoff game. Frustration at the way this entire season has gone sideways and that every single change and fix that Jonny has tried over the past four or five years, every attempt to better himself and be more even keel has ended up putting him exactly where he always felt he would be if he lost that control, that edge. Losing. Losing all of it. 

Patrick stands silently, fists clenching and unclenching at his side as he lets Jonny process. 

"Pat," Jonny's voice cracks. "You don't .... you can't .... I don't know how to lose. I've never led a team into such an embarrassing end. So give me a fucking break."

Patrick nods once and seems to relax a little. 

"That's some good advice," Patrick says in a quiet tone. "So if I have to give you a break, don't you think maybe you should give yourself one too? I mean, there are some people I would worry about not taking responsibility or holding themselves accountable for their piece of the pie. But you?" Patrick reaches up and ruffles Jonny's hair, hand sliding down to squeeze the back of his neck. "You have never had that problem, bud. Quite the opposite. But that's just as bad, you know?"

Jonny relaxes into the grip on his neck, dropping his head to his chest and nodding slightly. He lets the heat of Patrick's hand ease into the muscle and smooth out some of the tension he's been holding. 

"And it's not that you don't know how to lose, Jon," Patrick lets a thumb rub in circles on the side of Jonny's neck. "It's that you've just forgotten how." 

They stand silently for a long while, Patrick rubbing rhythmic soothing circles while the sun warms them, the sounds of the street and bird chirping the only noises other than their breathing. 

"How do I fix it, Pat?" Jonny asks in a small weary voice, eyes closed tight against the heat of mortification and vulnerability rising up. There was a time when Patrick would have been the last person that Jonny would have let see his weaknesses. Now there is no other person in the world that he would let see him this way. 

Patrick squeezes one last time and drops his arms to cross over his chest, turning to lean against the car on his left side so that he's facing Jonny. 

"I guess you gotta figure out what's broke first," Patrick says quietly. 

"What if I don't even know where to start?" Jonny asks in a voice of uncertainty that he didn't even know he had. 

"Well," Patrick says after a pause. "We got a plenty of time now for you to figure it out." Jonny nods miserably. 

"A lot of folks are pointing at my health," Jonny offers quietly. 

"Yep," Patrick agrees but gives nothing away on his face. 

"Pointing at my supplements and Aubrey," Jonny says tentatively. Patrick has never made his distrust of Aubrey a secret in the locker room. 

"Yep," Patrick says and Jonny is pretty sure there's probably a little justifiable smugness there. 

"Some are even saying it's my dog and my girl," Jonny flushes. 

Patrick shrugs and looks off in the distance, clearly not comfortable. 

"You've never liked her," Jonny observes quietly. Patrick mulls that over a bit before speaking. 

"I've liked her just fine, I guess," Patrick says carefully. "What I don't like is some of the influences she has brought around your life through her circle of friends and her personal passions and interests. What I don't like is the way you've changed so dramatically in some ways since she and the others have joined the picture. But either way, that's none of my business and I'm not going to go there with you." 

Jonny and Patrick haven't and won't talk about those corners of their lives for reasons Jonny suspects go far deeper than simply not wanting awkward conversations. Jonny has already evaluated his side of that coin ad nauseum with nothing but heart break and fear to show for his troubles. It's never been discussed but Jonny isn't as oblivious as the world thinks he is and he's pretty sure Patrick has had some similar thoughts. Neither have ever been brave enough to cross the gap. Who knows if they never will. 

"If you were me," Jonny braves a look at Patrick's face; sharing vulnerability. "Where would you start?" Patrick rubs at his jaw slowly, thoughtfully for a long while before he answers. 

"I don't think I have to be you, bud," Patrick says softly. "I think we both start in the same place. By looking in the mirror."

Jonny nods, tilting his head back again to look up at the sky. 

"I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna like what I see," Jonny says tightly. 

"I'm pretty sure none of us will," Patrick says simply, mimicking his pose. 

"I feel like there's gonna be a lot," Jonny's voice is barely above a whisper. "I'm kind of scared about how much might have to change, how long and hard it will be to win another Cup."

Jonny feels more than sees Patrick turn his head to stare at Jonny's profile. He swears he can feel Patrick's eyes boring into his skull until he turns his own head and meets Patrick's eyes, the blue very dark in the intense focus on Patrick's face. 

"You're not alone, Jonny," Patrick says, the focus almost too much. 

"Yeah," Jonny swallows thickly at how incredibly glad he is to know that is true. Patrick watches him for a long moment and then smiles, a small tentative almost hopeful smile. 

"And as far as cups," Patrick asks quietly, meaningfully. "You started working for your first Cup win when you were a kid. Do you remember the first thing you had to do to get that beauty in your hands?"

"Give you the puck?" Jonny can't help the small sarcastic smile. Patrick laughs a bright burst of sunshine that starts to light some of the darkest places in Jonny's heart. 

"Abso-fucking-lutely," Patrick winks and then slowly lets the smile slip away into something soft and solemn. "No, Jonny, the first thing you had to do was trust yourself. You had to be brave enough to take that first step on the ice. You had to believe you could get out there with tiny wobbly legs and just see where they took you. And dude, they took you pretty fucking far. So maybe it's time for you to stop putting your faith into sketchy supplements, weird exercises, and flaky people in your life and start putting it back into the one person that has never failed you .... you."

Jonny ponders that for a long while, wondering when the mouthy little pimply faced moron grew into the intuitive intelligent quiet adult next to him. But then, Patrick has had to grow up in ways and navigate situations that Jonny could only helplessly watch. Life has been a harsh teacher for Patrick. Jonny stops himself before he starts down the rabbit hole threatening when he ponders all that he has missed of Patrick over the past few years, wrapped up in his own dumb self-improvement schtick. Maybe people who are bitching about Jonny's focus on the wrong things aren't completely wrong. 

"You've never failed me either, you know," Jonny offers, cheeks heating as he dares to wade into into a place they haven't gone. Patrick watches him quietly, thoughtfully. 

"I think I have in some ways," Patrick's eyes are turned to his, focused yet sad. "But that's probably a conversation for another day when all of this," he makes a sweeping hand gesture, "isn't so close."

Jonny doesn't break the eye contact, says simply "Promise me we will, though. Soon, eh?" Patrick doesn't move a muscle, doesn't even blink for a long time. 

"We will," Patrick says hesitantly after a while. "If you're around." Patrick shrugs as if he doesn't care but Jonny hears it, silent between the words, Patrick asking him to stay in Chicago in the only way he knows how. 

"I'll be around," he says very seriously, focusing on Patrick's face to make him understand what Jonny isn't saying too. 

A slow pleased grin slides across Patrick's face, soft but hopeful. 

"Let's take it back to the start, eh?" Patrick sing-songs but Jonny isn't fooled for a moment. 

"Seems like the best place to begin," Jonny nods, feeling the first warmth of hope spread through his chest. 

Everything happens for a reason. Even embarrassing annihilations in round one series. Maybe something great will come from this moment and lesson. Jonny is absolutely certain that if anyone can make it so, Kane and Toews can ....


End file.
